By | family | No Comments

Early on the morning of 23rd Sept 2015 our Dad, Peter Ditchfield, lost his battle with an unexpected and rare form of cancer and slipped away with his family beside him. Dad was a kind and selfless man who touched almost everyone he met with a vivacious lust for life and the most hilarious sense of humour. For us though, Dad was just an amazing father who did everything he could for us and will be sorely and painfully missed. Truly a King among men.

Following is the Eulogy I wrote for the Service at Escomb Church.

For those of you who aren’t aware, Im a musician. 3 years ago my band DeeExpus released its second album The King of Number 33, the back cover of which was to feature a Norman King standing menacingly in front of some Castle Gates. Originally we were going to hire an actor to fill the robes, someone who could carry off the look and do justice to Gavin Mayhew’s amazing painting on the cover, but that idea was hastily abandoned one evening during a visit to my parents house for tea where dad agreed to grow a beard and become the King.

We hired his Robes from a Theatrical Costumer in London, had the shoot outside of the castle in Stanhope and the resulting photo of him has almost become iconic. its been seen all over the world, sat next to Deep Purple in HMV, been enthused over by Americans, made into a huge poster and now even resides in Derek’s (our minister and the bands latest fan) Collection of Prog Rock …  but more importantly it captures perfectly the man; fun loving, extrovert, ever the centre of attention (much like Rob and I) and always, always making people smile. Intentionally, or otherwise. Im so proud he agreed to do it.

The album itself was in production for around 3 years and during this time I was an absolute recluse. I had little time for anyone or anything and infrequent family visits were cut short as I impatiently and hastily made my excuses and left. Mam and Dad however, were understanding and supportive and when the time eventually arrived for the album release party, Dad agreed to reprise his Role as the King and even join us on stage to “Knight” various friends and associates of the Band. He absolutely made the evening – bringing the character to life in a way that only Peter Ditchfield could have, chatting to people, posing for photo’s and charming everyone in his own unique way. He was just Brilliant and we went on to have a phenomenal night, a very fitting end to 3 years hard work.

The next day mam and dad called round with an insistence that dad needed to talk to me so we went into the kitchen and sat down. For all of the previous night’s frivolity, the good humour, the acting, the standing on stage in front of a crowd, the making of MY night and his devotion to doing just that, he did all of this knowing that only 2 days prior. his son and our brother Paul had been found dead. At dads insistence, they’d kept this from me so as not to ruin my evening. For me, that was the opitomy of selflessness and again the Man he was. Selfless, giving, kind – and a man who had just the biggest of hearts. I’ll never forget what he did for me that night and I’m humbled by it.

The piece of music Dad entered the church to, was a reworked version of Paupers Parade from The King of Number 33 and was originally written to be regal and stately. It seemed very fitting that we had this piece for him.

Earlier in the week I sent this version to my mam for approval and one of her comments was that it was very sombre and could have done with a bit of an uplift in the middle. I would like to provide that uplift in the form of a short story, one that Ive told many times and my absolute favourite from the thousands of brilliant stories from the Dad Archives, I’m sure there’ll be many more shared today.

Dad likes to keep people informed of his whereabouts. Especially Mam. This particular day, they were out shopping in Bishop Auckland and whilst mother did a little food shopping in Marks & Spencer, our beloved dad nipped off to run a few errands of his own. This included, amongst other things, depositing a pair of trousers in at the dry cleaners. Having been parted for the briefest of time, dad clearly felt it was far too long and needed to report his progress back to headquarters. So off headed back to M&S to seek her out. Marks and Spencer in Bishop was a long thin affair with a ladies clothing section at the front and a modest food section at the far end; the end in which Mission Control was happily pushing her trolley about collecting various items for the larder. Given the sheer importance of the task at hand, dad wasn’t going to be bothered with walking the full length of the shop in order to report in, so stood in the doorway craning his neck over the oblivious ladies thumbing their way through various flowery garments. A glimpse of recognition later he cleared his throat, raised his hand to his mouth and uttered the now legendary phrase:

“Margaret!!! I’m just going to take me trousers down … “

Taking the P*ss out of Rogers

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My mate and DeeExpus drummer Henry Rogers has been in the band since he was 18 after he was recommended to me by Agnieszka Kulpinska from Metal Mind in Poland. He auditioned on his 18th Birthday and due to his absolutely incredible performance of our song “Greed” (his audition can be seen HERE) he landed the job and spent the next 2 years being the bane of my life in the nicest possible way.

6 years later, Hen is one of my Best Mates. I love the guy and we’ve had some brilliant adventures trooping around the place and getting up to all sorts of mischief, the likes of which I can’t go into too much detail about, due to the likely hood of his reputation being unequivocally tarnished. He’s also, in my opinion, one of the BEST Drummers in the Country today. His feel is superb and his technical ability absolutely second to none. Some of the stuff I had him playing for The King Album defies belief really and I really can’t see many drummers capable of what we achieved with those sessions.

Henry likes me to do stuff for him. Like Websites. And Business Cards. And Logo’s. And his Facebook Page. Of course, I do them. I moan about it, and take a little while, but they get done.

For the first version of his website, he sent me a boatload of pictures he’d had taken during a shoot for Prog Magazine and being the good and trusted friend I am, it seemed only fitting to get them into Photoshop for a little enhancement.

She just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich.

By | Food | No Comments

… except she didn’t. She did neither.

My partner is a Vegetarian and I, myself (don’t you just hate that phrase) eat primarily veggie.

Why?? Well as far as Andrea’s concerned its her story, but the bit that concerns me came about when one night after work she announced (over one of my fabulous Chilli’s, a recipe I’ve worked and worked at for years and was quite proud of) that from now she wanted to eat Vegetarian. Her reasons aren’t to do with Animal Welfare, though we both love Animals, nor were they to do with taste. They’re awesome, sensible and commendable reasons based on study and research and am very proud of her taking the decision to go for it. That particular night however, I wasn’t proud at all. I was fucking furious.

When Andrea moved in, we decided that as I enjoyed cooking and was rumoured to be reasonably adept at it, I would take on that particular chore. She would take all of the rest. This works particularly well as I do enjoy planning a meal and having my time in the kitchen and equally, Andrea is obsessed with (aside from QVC) cleaning everything that moves, doesn’t move or only moves from time to time. I wasn’t actually aware that a washing machine could endure such endless cycles and that a rug could resemble a perfectly mown lawn complete with stripes, but thats how it is and hence, the good lady comes home every night to a home cooked meal, freshly prepared with not a processed sauce in sight. Mostly.

As am sure most people do, you end up with a food routine. Not necessarily Meal A on Monday, Meal B on Tuesday etc, but a standard number of dishes rotated around some sort of loose plan and in the earlier days, for us, these were all meat based. A bit of Chicken, maybe a meat curry, certainly a Chilli con Carne and all of the other things that are now a dim and distant memory.

“I think I’d like to give the Veggie thing a try …”

For what was probably a two full days, I actually became Gordon Ramsay. Nothing to do with cooking, more to do with self conduct; throwing things and particularly disgraceful language. All of the years spent developing my culinary carnivorous concoctions had been for nought, I was going to have to start all over again. I mean, what the hell were we going to eat?! Cabbage?!

And that my friends, is the problem. Especially when it comes to dining out. Clearly, I had little choice but to overcome my Kitchen Nightmare and start cooking, it was either that or starve. It didn’t take me long to really start enjoying the challenge and to be honest, I’ve churned out some of the best meals I’ve ever cooked. We’ve even taken a tentative step into vegan cuisine, but alas vegan cheese has no place on the planet, let alone the plate and theres no way I’m giving up my Vintage Cheddar and Parmesan, nuts to that. Speaking of nuts, well; beans, I’m now even one of those annoying cretins who has Soya Milk in his tea. Earl Grey, of course. However, I digress …

“Can we see the vegetarian options please?”

What on earth is the matter with pubs and restaurants in the North East of England? I mean, come on, it really isn’t difficult. In fact, to be honest, its a Cash Cow (if you’d be so kind to pardon the pretty pertinent pun). Compared to fillet steak, corgettes and aubergines are cheap. Not only that, but other than Sky Apple (AWESOME place, here … SkyApple) in Heaton, Newcastle, there seems to be absolutely no where in the north east that gives the remotest shit about the thousands of Veggies in the region. A little imagination, self education, foresight and a dash of consideration is all it should take to put together a damn good vegetarian meal but the fact of the matter is, very few places can be even remotely arsed.

“er …. Vegetables!”

This, Ladies and Gentlemen, was a particularly hilarious and well though out response to a reasonable request as to what was the Veg option on the set Carvery menu at a christening we attended recently. Now, as side splittingly funny as this is, the venue, in my opinion, were taking the piss. The person who’s child was anointed, was paying per head, for us all to sit down and celebrate this joyus occasion oblivious to the fact that said venue simply couldn’t be bothered to stick a big mushroom in some pastry. Hey, I mean, why not make 10 mushroom wellingtons, stick them in the freezer and make some veggie feel as joyful as the rest come eats time. You might also give the customer some value for money while you’re at it.
This is actually a combination of two separate christenings at two separate venues where the same thing happened. The second one however, wasn’t a carvery, they just brought the plated meal out. With Meat Gravy. On both occasions, Andrea had dry veg with some horseradish or something equally as make do. They couldn’t even open a jar of veggie gravy granules and boil the kettle.

“Its all about the Meat!”

Some friends of ours have recently opened a Bar. Well, its a Bar and Kitchen actually and in all fairness, they’re only our friends because they have a bar and I insisted I do things for them. Anyway, around the corner is another Bar, well, Pub. Strangely, this place is very similar in decor and style to our friends’, as is another bar a couple of doors up, both opening some months after theirs. I digress. Again. Anyway, the owners of this bar, well, pub around the corner, have opened a second in a small village not too far from where we live, so we thought we’d give it a blast taking along my Brother and Sister in Law. Well, she’s not really my sister in law because they’re not married, but that would be a can of worms and a half and this is a veggie blog. I think Ill start a new paragraph …

So, in we trundle and my Bro, being Admiral Opinion as he is, starts wtf-ing about their ineffective attempt at rustic quirk. Poundshop Kitchen roll holders (with kitchen rolls) on the tables, the unfinished wood screwed to the walls in patches, the coleslaw in tin cups. Coleslaw it wasn’t. Gargantuan chunks of red onion in cheap mayonnaise is what it was, but we haven’t got there yet. In fact we haven’t even gotten to the whats the single solitary veggie option you must have on your smokehouse menu? Wait, what? Nothing? At all?! … we have fish? Fish?! Well, its a ‘smokehouse’. Ah, of course.

Andrea had fish. I, on the other hand, not being a veggie, had the “Its all about the Meat” Burger. Never have I eaten such an uncooked pile of mush laden with far too much cheese. How the hell do you achieve a consistency like that from Beef? The burger, just wasn’t. It disintegrated into pulp, nearly held together with the plastic topping of yellow play-doh™. Like I say, Im not a vegetarian, I do like a good burger from time to time, especially when I go out with friends, yet more often than not I regret it. The thing is though, I can stay in and make myself a reasonable burger (not that I have for a while as we don’t buy any meat!) AND knock up some roast veg with cous cous for the lady, but sometimes, you want to go out and pay for something better than you can have in the house. Sometimes you would like a choice for veggies and non veggies alike. Ok so its all about the Meat, great, but there are still people who would like to accompany their meat eating friends and enjoy pleasant fayre too. Howay man you lot, you publicans, you proud purveyors of the fine dine, have some consideration, get your act together and stop being so damn lazy.

“Hows about a Grass Sandwich?”

I mentioned our friends bar earlier. Well, they’re not getting off unscathed either, though there is at least hope there now they’ve gotten rid of the Vegetarianist Chef. This guy actually took the piss, to our faces. It was all good humour in all fairness, but there was a total reluctance to do anything veggie as in whats the point? Are you a Man or a Giraffe? Have a steak. The new guy they have is great. We ate there recently and knowing we were coming he actually went out of his way to order ingredients (in the shape of the most Brutal of Corgettes, amongst other things. This thing was the size of a Blimp) to make a stuffed corgette for A. It was great and Andrea went away having had a lovely meal like the rest of us. Still though, we can’t just turn up and order something other than a veggie burger (which is actually great too).

“Mushroom Fucking Risotto”

NO! Well, ok if you must but its a bit boring, especially if its the only veggie option there is. there are one or two exceptions, but in the majority of cases there’s one veggie option and its just … YAWN!

Here, and we’re keeping it easy … Serves 4 to 6 with a bit of rice or Garlic bread (bread, wi’ Garlic) and has replaced my meat chilli, like, completely. I love this and tend to make a big pot and freeze portions. Hey, Lazy Publicans, theres an idea eh? Rocket? Science?

Black Bean and Sweet Potato Chilli

  • A couple or three Yams (‘Murican for Sweet Potato). If they’re Huge, like the size of a small planet, use 1. If you get the multipacks, use 3.
  • a tsp Cinnamon
  • half a tsp of cumin seeds
  • Salt n Peppa
  • a little Rapeseed / Olive oil

Starter for 10 – Peel and dice your Yams into about 1 inch square cubes, and toss them about in the oil, salt and spices. Stick them in the oven at about 200 degrees for 30-40 mins. While they’re roasting get the following prepped:

  • 2 tsp Rapeseed Oil (hey, its the new Olive Oil if you haven’t heard, British, Far less saturated fat and numerous health benefits too boot, google it. Or use Olive Oil)
  • 1 Onion, red or white. Whatever you have in, med to large. Diced.
  • 1 Green Bell Pepper diced
  • 1 Red Bell Pepper (or orange, or yellow, dunt matter) diced
  • 4 medium sized cloves Garlic (5 if they’re small) Crushed.
  • Handful Fresh coriander (remove leaves and put to one side, finely chop the stalks)
  • 2 Cartons Black Beans (or 400 g tins. I get these from Sainsburys as I can’t find them anywhere else … click here)
  • 2 tins chopped tomatoes
  • heaped teaspoon of Cumin
  • heaped teaspoon of Smoked Paprika
  • 1 – 2 Dried Chipotle Chilli’s Chopped. They’re not hot, just add a nice smoky taste.
  • 1 heaped teaspoon of Chipotle Chilli Paste (you’ll thank me for finding this if you didn’t know it existed: AsdaTesco – Actually GREAT mixed with some Mayo for a Chipotle dip for yer Chips!)
  • Heat. The above paste has a bit of kick so you can either stop there if you like it mildish, or throw in some chopped Green Finger chilli’s, 3 – 5 depending on how hot you want. You know what, experiment. Make it twice. Top Tip, cut the very end of the chilli off and nibble on it to find out how potent it is. The number of times I’ve put 3 chilli’s in and not had any heat whatsoever … Top Tip 2, don’t pick your nose, rub your eyes or scratch your arse.
  • A dash of Lime Juice. Start with about 10ml and see how it tastes.
  • Seasoning (Salt n Peps, man)

Right then, start by heating your oil up on a med to high heat in a large soup pot, or whatever med to largish pot or pan you have. When its hot, chuck the onions and peppers in and fry, stirring often until the onions have some colour. Golden Brown for example. If the colour is black, bin them and start again. Don’t rush this, let the onions turn a nice shade of Golden Brown, its well worth it. 10 mins +
(don’t forget about your Yams!)
Turn the heat down to Medium, Throw in the Garlic, Dried Chipotle Chilli’s, Chopped Coriander Stalks and if you’re using fresh chilli’s, those too and give them a minute or two, stirring constantly. At this point, stick your head over the pot and inhale deeply. KIDDING, You’ll absolutely regret doing that if you do. Better still, shout to your partner and get them to do it; here, smell this …
(Yams? Done? Take them out of the oven and put to one side. Not done, leave them a bit longer. I like mine a bit well done)
Next add your spices, give them a minute and add the chipotle chilli paste. Keep stirring for another minute or two.
Add the two cartons of Black Beans, liquid and all. Throw in the chopped tomatoes and give it a good stir.
Bring to the Boil and leave it to simmer away for about 20 Mins. If you’re going to be feeding someone else with this, grab a teaspoon out of the drawer and have a taste (if its just for you, use the wooden spoon, who cares). Season as required by your tastebuds.
Finally, Throw in your Roasted Sweet Potatoes, the coriander leaves and the lime juice and give it all a good stir.

We usually have this with Garlic Bread or Cheesy (not that Vegan crap), Jalepeno ridden Nacho’s and Rice, with a good dollop of Guacamole (home made of course), recipe to follow. Its a piece of piss.

Sex, Drugs and Bingo – Thanks Colin Barber.

By | Music | No Comments

A long time ago in a galaxy far far away … (well, really quite close actually) a couple, both of musical persuasion, decided in their infinite wisdom to bear offspring. A son was born unto them and lo they called him Andrew. This is my story.


My earliest memory of anything remotely musically related was at home in Peterlee, where I spent most of my childhood. I remember my dad coming in, or going to, some gig or other and I remember seeing his Bass. I also distinctly remember him having some music on and him explaining the difference between bass and treble, which he did by saying that if you turned the treble knob you could somehow take the voice out of the music. I was young. Very young. I believed him and for years thought that that’s what the treble knob did, however I do know what he was getting at and really its not too bad a away of explaining to a 3 year old I suppose. I don’t remember much else about my dad being at home other than him playing at Langley Castle and him taking me along to sing baa baa black sheep through a mic which had a blue baffle on it. Oh and him taking me to see “scary” uncle Pete who I think managed “Rock City” in Sunderland at the time. “Scary” Uncle Pete also bought me a drum kit at some point in my early life, which me poor old ma was chuffed to bits about. Anyway, papa buggered off the scene and that was that.


My family have always been very musical, my mother played piano and cello, my dad played bass and trumpet, my granddad played the violin, and along with his brother and two sisters made up a quartet. Every Christmas as kids we had to go round and listen to “Bessie and Milly” play duets on the piano and I think my granddad and “uncle bill” used to join them, though I cant remember specifically. They all encouraged me into piano lessons at an early age, though I have to confess I hated it. My (very) old piano teacher, Miss Elliott used to get hold of one of my fingers and plonk it around the keyboard for half an hour while I day dreamed of sweets or action men or whatever it was that floated my boat then. Still, I think I did up to Grade 3 or something and was bought a Bontempi organ which I had for donkeys and used to entertain (irritate) the family during get togethers.


My first guitar was an old steel string acoustic bought by me dear old ma from an antique shop (I think it’s a resteraunt now) on Elvet Bridge in Durham. I think she bought it under duress as my then best friend Andrew ?? announced he was getting one for Christmas, and if he was having one, I wanted one. Andrew sharp gave up, and as my mother hated the racket I was making (‘Turn it down’ became as common a saying as good morning in our house) I obviously continued to play. Iron Maiden probably.


I suppose it was moving to weardale in 1983 that got me into a music scene of sorts. I started school in Wolsingham and it wasn’t long before I met Dave Reynolds (MZR) Paul Thompson, Alan (Ritson’s son) Wood, Alister “Pablo” Laine and Steve Wright (or Captain Rock as he seems to be known these days). I remember loads of individual bits and bobs about this time, but as for the order they happened I cant be too precise. I remember going to Steve’s house at Lunchtime as he lived in Wolsingham and particularly Pablo being there. Steve had a White Honer Strat copy and a Laney Cab and It used to sound fantastic. He would entertain us with repeated renditions of Molly Hatchets “Boogie no More”. Brill. I remember being in a band with Paul Thompson and Alan Wood. Don’t think we ever had a name, but we did used to rehearse in Alans back room causing the door to frequently burst open and Scary Mr Wood to enter shouting Turn it Down! Didn’t realise how similar parents could be. I remember a collection of various bands being put together. I remember buying a PA for about 100 quid with Dave Reynolds. I remember playing with Dave and possibly Pablo, certainly Tony (Steve Wrights Brother) in a band in which I was the Drummer. We played “Sweet Child of Mine” a lot I think, and rehearsed in High Grange Village hall. Dave and I were always doing something in High Grange village Hall, indeed everyone at somepoint frequented the place, it was Great. Daves family were cool as hell and I just about lived there at one point eating spready cheese, peanut butter, pickeld onion and tomato sauce sarnies whilst making a din and NOT getting told to turn it down. Funnilly enough, having moved back into the area a couple of things have surfaced to remind me of this era. On Boxing day ’05, I was invited back into Scary Mr. Wood’s house for a bit of a party/get together. Alan was there (great to see you by the way, if you have the misfortune to be reading this!) and his mam unearthed a picture of one of the bands (could have been MZR perhaps?) with Pablo in his lycra pants and Steve and Alan playing. Fantastic. Another strange thing is that Ive started mixing recently for a Band called “the Distractions” and apparently, though I really cant remember this, Dave R and I did the sound for 2 of the members (then the Jones Brothers?) at Wolsingham School with our £100 PA.


One fine day around this sort of era, Paul Thomson rang me to announce that he’d found an advert in the paper for a Guitarist and Bass Player to join a band in Shildon. They were a proper band. They had a proper PA and a Real Singer and were to hold an audition in some hall in Shildon which really sadly isn’t there anymore. Paul and I made a pact that we would go as a package and if they wanted one of us they’d have to have the other. Fortunately for me, they wanted Paul and we joined “Holosade”. This was my entry into what I considered then to be the music scene. Our first (certainly MY first real) gig was at Shildon Workingmens club which was the one up on stilts at the bottom end of Shildon. Again, really sadly for me, its now gone. Some bright spark thought we’d look cool with our faces painted white in a sort of “KISS” fashion (I had a lightening strike and false blood!) and the Singer who didn’t have a collosol amount of hair thought he might look cool in an executioners mask. We didn’t. I remember my Ma and Pa being there along with Elien and John Mooney from next door (??!!) and despite absolutely shitting myself, I loved it and I mean, LOVED it. It wasn’t long before the truth came out and they revealed to me that I’d only got the job because of Paul’s supreme bass skills. It felt like a bereavement to me and I was absolutely gutted. Paul however, sharp brok our pact and he stayed for a good while. If the truth be known, I would have done exactly the same thing. Ruthless business the music biz! I think I hung around them for a while, went to see them a couple of times with my replacement who I seem to remember was very, very good. The Drummer, Michael Lee went on to join a band called Little Angels who did very well. He ended up in The Cult and then the last I heard, playing with Robert Plant and Jimmy Page. Not bad for a spotty teenager whom I last saw in Bishop Auckland Bus station. I think he lives in LA now, or did.


Shortly after this, or maybe around the same sort of time, I had a conversation with one Beth Smith who lived down our street. She informed me for some reason that her brother owned a guitar so I took it upon myself to have a wander down one day and give him a knock. That knock was probably the most important knock of my musical, and indeed social, life. Tony Smith answered it.

He reckons today, that I was after borrowing his guitar and I really cant remember, though I will concede cos it sounds like the cheeky sort of thing I’d do. Smithy and I became good friends and I was invited into the circle of mates for the sole perpous of going “up Crook”, or “down Bishop” to get pissed with the lads whilst sporting big hair and doing the shovel dance to Yazz’s the only way is up. Amongst this circle of friends was a drummer called Brian Birket, or Bik to his mates. Bik was famous and well renowned, not for his drumming, though I do remember him as a good player, but more for the ludicrous antics he would get up to: namely shitting in a shoe box as he was too lazy to go to the bog (I was told it was true!), sticking a paper cup inbetween the cheeks of his arse (he had two eyes tattoo’d there, one on each cheek and the cup was to serve as a nose) and chasing women around the streets of Newquay, arse first obviously, before promptly getting nicked. I witnessed neither of these two things, but as I say, he was legendary.

In all fairness I cant exactly remember how it came about (most of my musical career seems to blend into one hazy memory, I do a lot of unsurity) but I have a niggling feeling that Smithy asked me if I wanted to join a band to play the clubs. I seem to remember wondering what the “clubs” were and being reliably informed that they were money making machines for young bands (little did I know!). I also think that our first rehearsal was in Witton Village Hall in the big horrible room (see the ATB story!). The band, then called “Distant Faces”, was comprised of Bik on Drums, Ali ?? on Keys and Mullet (he used to drive a lovely black Opel Manta and still had it about 15 years later when I passed him at some Traffic Lights), Smithy on Bass, me on Lead guitar and Danny Bonarius (real name!) on vocals. Happy Happy days. First gig was at a rugby club in Esh Winning, or certainly on the way there and it proved to be the start of a very long foray into the working mens clubs for me. I don’t remember many specific clubs with Distant Faces other than Belle Vue in Crook where all the mams and dads came and kicked off as we were jipped with payment for some reason. I also remember Bishop Club (now Lennons) in the market place and going away in the van countless times. We were supposed to play a club in Brotton on my 18th Birthday and the van broke down on the A19 just on the turnoff for the A174 in Middlesbrough. My 18th was spent with a luminous yellow jacket on waving traffic past whilst someone tried to fix it. We never got there. Im again sure that we had another gig there that we again didn’t make so Brotton club became known as “Brotton down”.

Smithy knew a guy called Shank who was in turn a friend of Graham Sewell (Vortex Lighting). Again hazy, but Shank supplied us with a PA in the early days and Im sure Graham was involved with the lights somewhere along the line. The thing I remember about Shank is where he lived. He had a farm on the outskirts of Toft Hill and he was building a “studio” there. Im sure it never got finished and remained a lowly barn. Smithy and I used to go up and visit Shank and his evil Siamese devil cat. Shank would stick Frank Zappa on, get his spliff box out, and the 4 of us got trousered and watched and listened and smoked some more. “Does Humour Belong in Music” was the Video that was played often, and as I write this my freshly purchased copy, bought today, lies infront of me. Smithy and I used to sit, only moving our smoking arm as if you made any other movement at all, the cat would “have” you. Im telling you, ive always had cats and loved them, but I was petrified of this thing.

Shanks appearance or involvement ceased at some point and we were forced to find someone else. I remember distinctly ringing around one day to find a PA guy and going right through the phone book. I also distinctly remember ringing Vamps Music in Washington and speaking to some guy called Jim McCabe. Weird. Anyway, we got in touch with a company in Gosforth called STUK headed up by a certain mr Stu Keeble who still, nearly to this day, pops up from time to time. More about him later.

The band transformed into “Nightshift” which remained the same lineup bar Bik. I think he’d got sick, I don’t really remember but his replacement was Mark Roe who now drinks in the Fir Tree. The only thing I remember vividly about Mark being in the band was him watching us reverse the van back one night at Gosforth whislt dropping Terry (our sound engineer) and June (his little soundman case) off. Mark was waving us back shouting “common, back, back, bit more …” CRUNCH! “ok stop!” I do remember him being a good player though, and I did try and rope him into something before ATB, but he was having none of it. He does however, fit a mean garage door these days.

Terry and June were with us for ages and even Dave Reynolds got involved at one point to do the lights. Once whilst picking Terry and June up, Dave hid behind the chair in the van with one of those hairy brown monster gloves on. I think the full band were in the van when Terry and June got in and Dave, with his perfect comedy timing, just sat there for a good five minutes whilst we got going. We chatted blandly about nothing those five minutes, before Terry was head to squeal like a girl and just about fling June out of the window. Dave had slid the offensive appendage over his shoulder and tickled his cheek. Brill.


In true Ditchfield fashion, I don’t recall the circumstances of our split, but that was me into the clubs alright. Meanwhile, Dave Reynolds had introduced me to a band called Citizen Kane. Coincidently, whist at Bishop Auckland College I had met a guy in Art class called Mick Shoulder who fed me my first Olive. He’d brought it in to sketch and afterwards allowed me to eat it as I said I hadn’t had one before, it was rank! He later showed me his coarse black donkey jacket, where the olive had resided for a week in the pocket.

Mick turned out to be the bass player in Citizen Kane, and I started to get to know the rest of the band, one of which became a great friend and for 3 or 4 years we just about lived out of each others pockets, though avoided Olives at all costs.


Alan Meadows was an absolute star and taught me a hell of a lot about playing the clubs and also extracting the best fee for the least amount of work and outlay. This period in my “career” was an absolute howl and came about because of some “crooner” who needed backing for a New Years Eve gig at Evenwood Club. Steve Burney, who was the then drummer in Citizen Cane and yours truly were drafted in along with Alan to generate some sort of backing for this guy. I was to play bass and bought this old Carlsboro combo off Mick Shoulder to go along with my £160 Yamaha Bass bought from Rock City in Middlesbrough. Meadows and Burney were however accomplished musicians and were presented with “dots”. I was a 19 year old kid who thought dots were there to be joined and just about had a coronary when I was presented with them. “Its alright man, just follow me”, said Alan, so I did. For about 4 years.

The gig culminated in chairs being thrown around the room to the tune of “you’ve lost that loving feeling”. The police arrived and bore witness to the end of a fine gig and the start of a fine trio.

Alan Meadows, Steve Burney and I decided that since we could all do with a bit of extra cash, we should carry on this musical nonsense in the shape of club band. We begged stole and borrowed this ridiculous PA made up of two horrible sounding “White” bins, with a horn slapped in along the way, some form of powered mixer amp and a Wem Copy Cat for echo on the vocals. Joy of all joys, “Packet of Three” had been born and off we jolly well went.


Our first gig came about after 2 weeks of rehearsals whereupon our 2 x 45 minute spots consited of 1 x 30 minute. Our agent, a certain Mike Bond, gllefully announced that Middlesbrough cycling club where eager to sample our wears and we were to cart our buttocks in that direction for the purpous of entertaining “cyclists”. Why on earth it was called a cycling club, remains a mystery to me to this day. I would be very surprised if there was one cyclist in that night or indeed any of the other nights I had the misfortune of playing there. The only plausible explanation I can attribute to the name of this establisgment , were the amount of “Bikes” wandering about outside. That area of Middlesbrough is renowned for them.

We arrived, set up and eventually launched into oour particularly short first spot. After about 20-25 minutes, just as I was wondering what Meadows was going to pull out of his very large hat, lady luck came a knocking on the stage door, in the very alluring shape of a “Meat Draw”. We had been saved, for the time being and Meadows gave a blistering performance. This must have been the longest meat draw known to man or beast. He spun it out for about 20 minutes trying to get as much as he feasibly could for a bag scabby pigs trotters. We eventually finished our first spot and went for a pint.

Having played for a considerable portion of his life, Meadows had amassed songs in his head like tin earings to a chav, as the infamous “Muddley” was to illustrate. I think we’d managed to save a couple of songs to start the second set with before “follow me” rang out and Steve and I obliged, eyes pinned on Alan and whatever the hell he was about to play subsequently.

The Muddley, it has to be said, became a work of art. It got better, more polished, longer and far less of a ballache to play. What started out as a set filler, became a firm favourite, certainly with me, and we played it for months. The weird thing about it was that loads of the songs we played, I had never even heard of but if Meadows was playing an A, I wasn’t far behind him.

Packet of Three was an absolute hoot, even if Bill Dixon (The North Easts answer to Steven Speilberg of the workingmens clubs. Basically a jumped up, self centred agent who thought he was god, and to all intense and purpose, was.) wouldn’t touch us with a barge pole because of the name. No Matter, we didn’t need him. Mike Bond’s gigs were coming in thick and fast and we were scooting around the dregs and cess pits of the north east club scene like no-ones business.

Another gig I remember quite well was ??????? club near Spennymoor. Alan and I turned up first, though I don’t think it was in the same vehicle. Infact Im sure it wasn’t in the same vehicle as Alan’s Brown Hearse-like Peugeot 504 Estate was an out and out death trap and none would dare ride it. The drivers side window had been knocked out and replaced with plastic sheeting which made a thunderous noise at any speed over 30. It also meant that pulling out at junctions became a game of Russian roulette. Meadows only comment in retort to the constant pisstaking by Steve and I was that it had a “good engine” and this was certainly true. The downside to the “vehicles” good engine, was undoubtably its shite brakes, or lack thereof. When he bought this thing, I honestly believe it was Blue or Red, or some other lovely car type colour. I think it only turned Brown due to Alan persistently witnessing rapidly approaching walls, traffic lights, clubs, other (legitimate) road users or pedestrians and the “good engine” having to scream in protest as first gear was selected in order to slow his hearse and bowel movements down.

Alan and I shuffled our gear in and began to set up and it wasn’t too long before monsieur Burney showed up, white as a sheet. He ordered a whiskey, sat down and proceeded to tell us how he’d just escaped from the mad clutches of a knife wielding lunatic. Steve Burney was a social worker, and had gone to extract someones child as far as I can remember. The Gentlemen whom Steve had visited wasn’t too happy about this and had made his feelings known accompanied by a flash of sharpened steel and a few choice words. Im sure there was far more to it than this, but I wasn’t there and neither was Alan. We were at the club ready to play.

The gig was non descript save for an incident at the end. The dressing room had two doors, one leading onto the stage, and one leading out into the audience, oddly enough, theyre mostly all like that. We had finished our Mudley and were getting changed when Alan realised he’d left his pint onstage. Always the comedian, he thought it would be hilarious to run out with just his undies on to grab his neglected beer and since that was the state of undress he was in, off he went. Steve and I reacted in an instant, locking the stage door behind him before wetting ourselves, then leaving through the other door to witness the result of our achievement.

Fully clothed, Me and Mr Burney sat, pint in hand, entertained to perfection as Alan and his pants muttered new found catch phrases whilst banging on the stage door for our ghosts to allow him re-entry.


“Howay lads, enoughs enough”

“Aye, right, jokes over”

“yeah yeah, funny as f*ck”




I really cant remember how the next band came about. Thinking about it there are various possibilities but I’m going to settle with the fact that our then keyboard player (in the limit) introduced me to Dave (??) a keyboard player from Darlington. Dave was an accomplished player and played in a band called Soul Connection who were looking for a Bass player. I hate soul to be honest, but this band were working 3,4 nights a week, had something of a show, decent gear and a proper 7.5 tonne Iveco Van/Truck thing.

SC’s trump card, infact their only card was that their ‘singer’ Mitch was the spitting dab of Errol Brown out of Hot Chocolate. They would open the set with him wearing a Tina Turner wig, do a couple of songs then whup it off and launch into some Hot Choc number to the amazed coo’s of the punters in the audience. I have to admit, I thought it was quite cool at the time but thinking back now, if it wasn’t for that gimic they would have had nothing. Mitch was a dreadful singer, good front man and loads of charisma, but a shit singer none the less. He also used to drink like a trouper, whiskey if I remember correctly, and would have a good few before even getting in the van for the gig. I did quite like him though, and we had a good laugh generally with Dave involved somewhere along the line.


The band itself consisted of their founder/drummer Paul Morisson, a rather large guy from Aycliffe, who ran the band like a business and I have to admit did a decent job of it. He loved his “band image” thing and we all had teeshirts and bomber jackets with the SC logo on the back. Again at the time, you felt quite cool and part of something with your Soul Connection jacket on. Heh. Pauls playing was distinctly average, he was in time and could get through his gigs no problem, but there was nothing that stood out particularly. The guitarist, was about 16 or something and used to be ferried about by his dad and always with his younger brother in tow. He was a very clean living guy who wouldn’t have a drink at all, but was a fine player for a tee totaller all the same! Dave was a cracking keyboard player, and very much the showman too. He had BIG 80’s hair, reminded me of the guy out of Kajagoogoo, and was very into white. So much so, that he painted his black Korg M1 thus ruining it for ever. Dave and I got to know each other quite well and went out clubbing and the like, so as we were mates, I figured it would be easy enough to get the job with the band. I remember going for the audition at the village hall in summerhouses, which was where the Limit used to rehearse. I walked in and was very impressed with the PA and set up. I still had the old carlsboro bass amp I had bought from Mik shoulder having retrieved it from Steve Burney who had held it captive for a while* and my old Yamaha RBX300 bass which I had bought for 160 quid when Packet of Three kicked off which compared to what was set up was a bag of shite. Never the less, I had learned the songs I had been given and played away to the best of my ability. I wonder, to be honest, what sort of a player I was back then. I obviously thought I was good enough, and after playing with Meadows and the Limit I expect I was, but I reckon I got the job through Dave rather than my seemingly fabulous playing.

Having finished the audition, I trundled off and awaited news of my Fate. Im sure Dave and I were off out that same night and it wasn’t long before he rang me.


“Right”, he announced “you’ve got the job on one condition …”

“go on then”

“you need to buy yourself some new gear!”


Well there you go. I hadn’t seen that one coming.

Soul Connection changed my life in more ways than one, and I suppose I can give full credit to Paul Morisson for being that “life shaper”. At the time I suppose I wasn’t very happy about the first quest but whatever unhappiness lingered over my head soon turned to unabridged joy as I completed my “never never” purchase at Rock City in Newcastle. I now owned my very own Trace Elliot 4×10 combo and I fucking loved it!

Strangely, though being such an integral part of my musical career, SC holds very few vivid memories. I remember carrying thos damn Bass Bins up ridiculous flights of stairs, Mitch getting pissed as a fart and wanting to kill band members in the van on the way home, going for Chicken at some dive of a take away in Middlesbrough, experiencing a “blues” club in a house in some backstreet part of Middlesbrough (seriously I could have died here. A Blues club is basically a boarded up house turned into a pub/bar/drug haven. There were users of everything under the sun in this place. Dark, seedy and highly illegal, a very scary place indeed.) and being sacked. Again.


I think there was more than one reason for this, but the reason given by Paul was Booze. Basically he reckoned that I drank too much and it wasn’t good for the image of the band. It effected my playing, which it probably did, but I honestly believe that my image just wasn’t right for the band. I have always been a bit of a showman and wasn’t accustomed to standing at the back thumping away like Bass players generally do. If there was space on any part of the stage, I would do my best to fill it. I would be jumping around like a lunatic, climbing on the drum riser and with the advent of wireless guitar systems forgetting about the stage altogether. The drink argument was pretty irrelevant compared to what Mitch put away during a night, but as already mentioned, the band would have been nothing without Mitch.

After inviting me down to a pub in Aycliffe and giving me this fabulous news, Paul went on to inform me of a band based in Newcastle who were looking for a Bass Player and he reckoned they’d be right up my street. He couldn’t have been more right.


Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome the best two years of my life … Shooting Party!!


Their weird little van was the very first aspect of this band I was to be associated with. I had called earlier in the week and spoken to one of them, who invited me along to see just what I would be getting myself into. I was informed that they’d be playing some club in Jarrow/Hebburn and come the night in question off I went. En route, I passed this old grey ex-post office van with what looked like 20 people crammed in the front and instantly found it amusing. It looked like a large van had been taken and sawn in half with the back axle having been moved forward without any thought of where exactly to place it. Don’t ask me why, but it reminded me of a sawn off shotgun and I christened it thus thinking I’d never see the like, again.

I eventually pulled up into the club car park whereupon, of course, there was the “sawn off shot van” being unloaded by a bunch of neanderthals.


Steve “the hippy” Walker, it turned out, was the guy I had spoken to on the phone. He had long wavy brown hair, a big nose and worked at HMV. It occurred to me that had he had a beard he would have looked uncannily like Frank Zappa. I was introduced to Colin ‘nee taj’ Barber, Jim ‘Jimmy Mac’ McAdam, Johnny ‘Mr Sex (cos he wasn’t!)’ WOSSFACE, Steve ‘didn’t need a nickname’ Martin, Brian the Sound Engineer and last but certainly by no means least Tony Dunn.

Tony was the lighting guy and must go down in history as one of the funniest people I have ever, ever met. The stories about him are legendary and will be explored later but needless to say, they were all a great bunch of lads


Eventually the band came on and opened up with “The Boys are Back In Town”. I was blown away. If ever there was a band I wanted to be in, this was it.

To be Continued …